


Dragons and Direwolves

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Character Study, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Developing Relationship, Dragons, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Post-Canon, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, References to GoT (Telltale), Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Winterfell, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: Their union had been a political one, to be sure, but Daenerys had found herself drawn to Sansa's cunning wit and comely looks.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 171
Collections: Short August Medieval Exchange 2020





	Dragons and Direwolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziskandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts).



Daenerys looked upon the northern queen's cold stone throne, catching the lifeless eyes of one of the snarling direwolves carved into its massive arms. More impressive was the woman upon the throne that had seated the old Kings in the North. They, along with the dozens of lords who followed them, had worn down the stone seat to perfectly accommodate the queen's stature. She was fair to look upon - a little taller than Daenerys, with high cheekbones, bright blue eyes and long, loose hair that shone like copper in the flickering candlelight, adorned only with a crown of polished silver. 

Daenerys adjusted her own band of rose gold, gifted to her by her wife. Her fingers lingered a moment as she traced the filigree scales of the dragons that matched Sansa's fierce silver direwolves. She wore her own hair in the style of the northern women she'd passed in the winter town's market square, bustling with merchants and smallfolk. When she first arrived at Winterfell they had not revered her as the Mother of Dragons or Breaker of Chains, but had welcomed her both as their beloved Queen Sansa's, and as a queen in her own right. Their union had been a political one, to be sure, but Daenerys had found herself drawn to Sansa's cunning wit and comely looks. 

She took her seat next to her wife, and Sansa gave her a knowing look as she linked her long, slender fingers with Daenerys'. Addressing the concerns of the smallfolk was an important responsibility, and not one that the Queens in the North considered shirking but, with the sudden surge in the winter village's population since the end of autumn, their problems had increased fivefold. It was exhausting, and the two queens were glad at least of one another's support. Daenerys remembered all too well what it was like to take on such duties alone, and she did not doubt that Sansa experienced similar burdens of leadership during those first few months following her coronation. She had the support of her brothers and sister, but their skills were not in politics. Still, Daenerys had often wondered what it might have been like - to have the unwavering love and support of one's family.

"We are family now, Dany," Sansa had told her as she clasped her hand, running a finger over her beaten gold wedding band.

The first to come before them was a red-nosed steward from Ironrath, the seat of a minor noble house in the wolfswood, sworn to the Glovers of Deepwood Motte. The hot springs beneath Winterfell kept the castle reasonably comfortable, but after trudging through the godswood snow earlier in the morning, Daenerys sympathised with the steward and his frost-touched nose. She knew little of House Forrester's ironwood trade, though she had admired the ancient ironwood trees in the castle's godwood - they reminded her of the black-barked trees she'd seen in Qarth.

But she was willing to listen as Sansa addressed him. Many problems brought forward on behalf of the Westerosi smallfolk were still alien to Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains, so different were they to the trials faced by the common folk of Essos. But Daenerys, queen consort to the reigning Queen in the North, would learn. She had always been a quick learner, and one of the reasons this marriage promised to be a successful one was Sansa's willingness for her involvement and assistance in ruling over the northern realms.

She recalled asking if Sansa feared her dragons, and her wife's sly smile as she quipped that the hot springs beneath the castle were warmed by a dragon's breath.

"They could burn you alive," she'd said, hoping after the fact that her tone was non-threatening. Sansa's expression had hardened then, but not for the reasons Daenerys might have expected.

"So could a man." Her pretty mouth twisted then, and Daenerys knew what Sansa was thinking before the thought escaped her lips.

"Or a woman," she'd said.

_ A woman in red robes, with ruby hair - too vibrant - like a parody of Sansa's own auburn locks. _

"Your children are far from the most monstrous creatures I've encountered, my sweet." She always  _ did _ like it when Sansa acknowledged the dragons as family. Perhaps it was her fearlessness, or the bond she'd once shared with her direwolf, but Sansa understood Daenerys' feelings towards her dragons as most could not, or would not.

When the steward - Tuttle? Cuttle? She was still getting used to these Westerosi names - reached an agreement about a logging contract for the so-called haunted forest beyond the Wall, they, and the rest of the small council, adjourned for lunch. With the exception of harvest feasts and the like, the food at Winterfell tended towards bland and plain as, upon Sansa's insistence, they ate as the smallfolk ate. The food was certainly more palatable than much of the cuisine she'd endured over the course of her life. The only occasional indulgence her wife allowed herself was lemon cake, sprinkled with poppy seeds, which Daenerys had to admit a growing fondness for. 

Today they dined on a simple root vegetable broth with stale bread to soak up what slipped from their spoons.

"I've never had the opportunity to visit Ironrath," Sansa admitted, poking at a piece of carrot that just would not stay on her spoon. "Though I met Mira Forrester a few times, at King's Landing. She was...one of Margaery's handmaidens." Daenerys knew the friendship between her wife and Margaery Tyrell had been...complicated by their relationships with Cersei and Joffrey Lannister, though it was clear Sansa missed her dearly. "Perhaps we should take the children to make their acquaintance," she continued, a wry smile playing upon her sweet lips. "With prior notice, naturally." 

Daenerys laughed because, of course, Sansa meant  _ her  _ children, born from stone and fire and blood. Since Westeros had gained some semblance of peace, of stability, the dragons' temperaments had calmed. Even Drogon, while hardly placid in nature, had become more gentle and playful than angry. In that moment she recalled meeting Asher Forrester and his companion, Beskha in Essos - at least one Forrester had seen her dragons, though she did not know what had become of him.

"I think they would like that. They've been itching to stretch their wings."

"But they don't wish to stray too far from you?" Sansa smiled warmly, wistfully. "Lady was much the same." Even after so many years, the loss still stung. Daenerys could not imagine the extent of her grief if she should ever lose one of her dragons in such a way, and slid her hand over Sansa's and squeezed, to say what words could not. But at least the prospect of escaping the halls of Winterfell with her wife seemed to cheer her up, and if that failed? There were always the lemon cakes.


End file.
